An Opera Ghost
by nerdygirl03
Summary: Florence was supposed to be the first child of the de Changy's. Sadly, that wasn't the case. Now she is in the hands of her true father- the Phantom of the Opera- living happily in the lovely Opera Polpulaire. But as she grows and develops a romance, the question arises: Will her father allow it? OCxOC MegxErik
1. Chapter 1

"Soon," he mumbled to himself as he swept down the long, dark hall that led to his dungeon of a home. Rats scurried around him on the ground, fleeing from the touch of light his torch provided. "She will bring it soon..." He smiled to himself, knowing the pain he was causing his previous love. The one who had betrayed him... the one he had secretly deceived. Miss Christine Daae. `She was one devil of a woman, tricked into love by the demon Raoul.

Christine had left a little under a year ago with her lover, leaving him to deal with the angry mob she had led to his home. He, of course, had hidden. The men who had come to take his life had stayed only a couple months and- thinking he had left- had finally retreated out of his lair. The only one who knew of his stable presence was Madame Giry, who he held under his thumb with the threat of her daughter's life. She knew it was no threat to take lightly so she kept her mouth shut and kept watch as he had instructed her...

Yes, Christine had left him with a ruined life, but he had given her worse to take. He had given her his child. She had not known he had done anything to her, but she must've realized by now that the night she came to his lair for the first time was far from innocent. The child was more a punishment for Christine than a gift for himself. She would obviously realize that the child was not Raoul's. He hoped it would look like himself, that it would have his eyes. The black eyes would show Christine instantly that the child was his for she and her lover had light eyes.

Christine would not be able to bear having a reminder of this place... or himself. She wouldn't be able to keep a ghost of her past. And if she could, the child would eventually find its way to the opera house and he would claim it as his. The time wouldn't matter... he had all the time in the world. He had eternity to wait.

He was, after all, a phantom...

The moment Christine heard she was pregnant from the doctor, she prayed for the baby to be Raoul's. Oh how she prayed the man who swore he loved her had given her a miracle and how she prayed the past was not cursing her...But as soon as she held the child in her arms she knew her prayers had failed her. The eyes of her beautiful baby girl were unbearable black. Pitch black.

Just like the Phantom's had been.

This child was his.

And she knew this was her punishment for running from the opera house, for escaping him.

"He wants her," Christine whispered, her voice shaking as she stared down at the little girl she held, "He wants her, Raoul ."

"Who?" Raoul asked, not knowing for he had not seen the infants eyes, "Who wants my daughter?" Christine howled with misery as she held her wriggling baby to Raoul.

"Her father!" she screamed, her words mixing with the child's cries, "Her father wants her, Raoul! He has cursed us to suffer the loss of our first born child. He has cursed us!" Raoul was at a loss for words as he stared into the child's eyes, seeing the oddly black irises and understanding the baby he thought was his was the child of a monster. A monster who had killed many in cold blood, who had almost murdered himself, and who had kept his wife prisoner and had obviously taken advantage of her.

With those thoughts processed through his mind, Raoul turned away from the girl. He could not stand to look in her eyes for the hatred he had towards her father was too strong and he did not want it to spread to her. He didn't want to hate his Christine's daughter... the child that was supposed to be his... But her eyes... those eyes...

"He will have her then," Raoul said coldly, not wanting the child around any longer. It was too painful... Christine was taken aback by her husband's attitude and immediately clutched the crying baby.

"But, Raoul..." Christine half whispered and half cried, "The Phantom... he will keep her a prisoner in that Opera house, Raoul..."

"I refuse to keep his child Christine," her husband growled, slamming a fist onto the table beside the bed he and Christine shared, "I will not keep the child of a devil in my house!"

"She is a blameless child!" Christine cried loudly, holding her daughter tightly to herself, "She is innocent in all this!"

"So were you Christine!" Raoul shouted at his wife, "You were innocent and that man took advantage of you! And he made you with child because he knew you would not want to stay and he wanted his ties in you. We must take him his daughter Christine... No, I must."

"You must?" Christine asked, almost screaming as Raoul snatched her child from her. He looked down at her sadly.

"You cannot go Christine," Raoul said, walking to the end of the bed and wrapping the infant in some spare blankets to shield her from the unbearable cold that loomed just outside their rather large home, "The Phantom is waiting for us to present him with his child. If you go he will weave you into his web and he will never let you go... Besides you do not need to bond with this child anymore than you already have. It is doubtful you will ever see her again."

Christine let out a wail as her husband fled from the bedroom with her child. Raoul closed the door to shut Christine into her room.

"Monsieur de Changy!" a maid called as she scuttled towards where Raoul stood, "What in the world is going on? Is the baby okay?"

"The baby is just fine Martha," Raoul told the maid, before adding, "Please ensure my wife stays in her chambers, I am going to get the child baptized." And with that, Raoul swept down the stairs and out into the cold winter's day that awaited.


	2. Chapter 2

"To the Opera Populaire, good monsieur," Raoul said as he climbed into a stage coach with the now silent infant in his arms.

"That's over an hour's-" the coachman began to complain, but silenced when Raoul held out to him a bag with many jingling coins, "Yes, of course sir..."

"Thank you," Raoul said, glancing at the child in his arms, then looking away as he realized it was still wide awake.

" Is that a baby you have?" the coachman asked. Raoul looked to see he was looking back at him with a bit of concern in his eyes. "Are you sure it will be okay in this long ride?"

"She will be just fine," Raoul said, trying to keep his voice level as his anger flared a bit within him, "Just please, may we start with the journey?" The coachman only nodded in response and snapped the reigns of the two large horses attached to the carriage.

"A coach is approaching the opera house," a female voice informed him. Looking around, the Phantom saw her standing out of the water's reach looking at himself who was on a small boat making its way through the ravine that went to his home of sorts.

"Do you believe it's them, Madame?" asked the Phantom, making the boat stop by pushing down on the long rod he used to steer it with so the wood sank into the mud on the bottom of the ravine. Madame Giry nodded.

"No one else would approach the opera house," she assured him, "It is basically in ruins, after all."

"Very well then," the Phantom said, steering the boat back to where Madame Giry stood, "I shall go great our guests. Be sure no one will disturb us."

"As you wish," she nodded, and hurried off down the passage she had come. The Phantom followed for a distance, then turned off an almost hidden passage. His torch did not burn as bright any longer as it had, but it was enough where he could see where the exit was...

"I will only be a moment," Raoul confirmed to the coachman as he stopped in front of the large opera house, "Please just wait here for me."

"I wouldn't dream of leaving monsieur," the coachman guaranteed. Raoul bowed his head, then left from the coach and started down the path towards the grand doors. He knocked a few times on them, expecting no one to answer as the day had faded away during the ride from the de Changy home to the Opera Populaire. One of the doors, however, swung open on its hinges with a loud creak that seemed to echo through the opera house.

Raoul walked into the dark entrance hall, looking to and fro for performers that may have still boarded there. If there were any, they all were elsewhere or sleeping for no one was in the hall. A humming noise, though, was resounding in the large room.

"Monsieur, I bid you welcome," a low voice resonated, "to _my_ opera house." Raoul couldn't help but let a snort escape him. The Phantom's Opera. Ridiculous. If the two who had owned it a year ago had sold it, it would not have been to the opera ghost. "I see you got my wedding present," the voice then hissed. Raoul looked down at the infant he held and had an urge to throw the child, but he didn't.

"You had to do this, didn't you?" Raoul growled to what seemed empty air, "Do you know what you have done to Christine? She is distraught! She-"

"Could have kept the child," the voice said back innocently, then turning cold continued, "You are the one returning it."

"You know I could never keep a piece of you, you demon," Raoul shouted at a point near the stairs he felt he could hear the words coming from more than any other place.

"I am the demon?" the voice asked, becoming more and more clear from the point on the stairs until there standing was a dark figure . A tall man with a complete black suite and a long cape that pooled behind him. His face was barely visible in the poor light, but it didn't matter for half his face was covered in a white mask. "You are the one who stole away my Christine while she was bearing my child, and now you have separated a new born from its mother. How do expect me to feed it?"

"I'm sure you will find a way," Raoul said, sitting the little girl on the ground with her bundle of blankets, "Her name was to be Florence. I wish you a good day, Opera ghost." Raoul felt a bit bad for leaving the child.. Perhaps he should have at least waited until it could eat solid food. But then Christine would have never given it up...

Raoul spun on his heel and was heading for the door when he felt a noose form around his neck, then tighten to a suffocating point. He reached up to grasp the rope and pulled it as best as he could, but still could not breath. Instead he was just gasping for what little air he could get.

"I could so easily kill you, right now. Just a slight tug and you'd be gone," Raoul heard the Phantom whisper in his ear, "So easy... But, I wouldn't take you from the pain of this life when I cannot escape." The noose loosened and Raoul fell gasping to the floor, trying to get oxygen back into his body. When Raoul finally was able to stand and turned back around to where the Phantom had been, the man and the child were gone. All that was there was a rose and a note. Raoul ripped the piece of rope away from his neck and practically ran out of the opera house, not gathering the rose or the note and not caring about the child who had disappeared within. It was, after all, the Phantom's kin. Raoul didn't think the Phantom would harm his blood and he knew the demon wouldn't harm Christine's blood- not physically at least.

"Monsieur!" the coachman called, sounding worried as Raoul came stumbling down the path that led to the opera house, "Monsieur, what happened to you? You look as if you've seen a ghost!"

"I have," Raoul panted.

"Where's your baby?" the coachman asked, his eyes wide, "Did something attack you?"

"Yes," Raoul said dryly, composing himself, "The child's father tried to murder me."

"The child's father?" the coachman said with incredulity, "I thought the baby was yours, monsieur! Why would the father try to kill you?"

"It's a long story," Raoul told the coachman, climbing back up into the coach.

"It's a long ride," the coachman shrugged, "My name's Monroe, by the way. Monroe Hutchman."

"I'm Raoul de Changy," Raoul responded to Monroe.

"So, would you like to tell me exactly how you came to have that child and why the father wants you dead?" Monroe questioned as he flicked his wrists so the horses were slapped by the leather reigns, "I haven't been carrying a kidnapper across Paris have I?" Raoul snorted.

"I wish it were that simple, Monsieur Hutchman," he started.

"Call me Monroe, please, monsieur," Monroe cut in, earning only an unseen nod from Raoul.

"As it is though," Raoul continued as if Monroe had not spoken, "I had the full rights to that child as it was born to my wife. That demon should just be happy I did not leave his spawn in the cold to freeze, but instead brought her to him."

"Your wife laid with another man?" Monroe said in disbelief, "I cannot see where the child is at fault though. Why would you leave it to die, even if it was not yours? My own son is not my own, monsieur, but I would never-"

"Have you ever heard of the infamous Phantom of the Opera Populaire?" Raoul interrupted the other man. He knew he was being downright unpleasant, but he had a reason to be.

"All of Paris has, monsieur," Monroe declared, "That man is the reason I work where I do now. I used own a stable and a large number of carriages and coaches alike on the opera's grounds, but once this 'Phantom' made himself known my stables went out of business as most of the shops on the street did. The only reason people stayed around was because of that opera house."

"I know, Monroe," Raoul told him, "My wife was a dancer for the Opera Populaire- a ballerina- and the lead for the opera house's last performance."

"Mrs. Daae?" Monroe asked, "I read about her in the paper. It said that the 'Phantom' had taught her himself. Is that true?"

"It is, sadly enough," Raoul said bitterly, "That man had an obsession with my dear Christine though, he even claimed she belonged to him. Christine trusted him, thought he was just a pitiful creature and an angel her father had sent to her as he was teaching her. Apparently though he found time to lay with her. I don't think she was even aware it had happened. When I saw the baby was his... I couldn't handle keeping it."

"I see," Monroe replied sadly.

From there the conversation died, and soon Raoul de Changy was on his way home to say the baby had not been strong enough and had simply died. It happened enough and when Raoul had taken the child from his wife it had only been a few hours old. It was perfectly possible the child could have died. To him, the moment the infant had disappeared into the opera house it had been dead. It wouldn't hurt Christine at all to think the child she had lost had died... In fact it was probably best for everyone if the baby born in the de Changy manor was thought to be dead.


	3. Chapter 3

"Florence," the Phantom whispered, looking at the child... his child through the darkness of the opera house. He could feel tears welling in his eyes, and tried his best to push them away. He had never thought he would have a child... yes, he knew Christine was to have one that was his, but he had never known having a child would feel like it did. Never imagined it would make him feel so good.

The Phantom held Florence close to his heart and kissed the infant's head gently. He wondered if she would be frightened of him as so many others were... or perhaps she would accept him. He looked down to see two little eyes watching him and he smiled.

"Hello, my little angel," he cooed, his voice almost cracking, "I'm sorry you've had to go through all of this hassle today..." The baby made a small noise and the Phantom laughed a little. "I suppose you're hungry, aren't you, little one?" he asked the infant, then added, "I suppose Madame Giry can take care of that as I have no clue what to do for you... "

~-de Changy Manor~-~-~-~

"No, Raoul!" Christine shrieked, "She can't be! No! What will happen when he realizes... Raoul we will be killed! He will kill us!" Raoul watched his wife in horror. He knew she would take the news of the infants 'death' badly, but this he never expected. She was beside herself, scared to death that when the Phantom found out about the death of his child, he would come after them. He knew it was wrong to let her worry, but he couldn't tell her the baby still lived. She would undoubtedly want to see the child. Instead, he found himself sprouting another lie.

"Christine, my love," he said silkily, "the Opera Ghost is dead. I heard a few men speaking of him... it was, apparently, a rather gruesome death." Christine's eyes were stretched wide open at this news, but then they became calm. She became calm, lying down in the bed. She clutched her heart as if to keep it from racing out of her chest.

"Oh, Raoul," she whispered, "Oh Raoul, we have been saved... Though I do feel bad for the Phantom... and the baby... Oh the baby..." Raoul shushed his wife comfortingly and sat beside her on the bed.

"I think it's better this way," Raoul said softly, "We both know that if we kept her we would only grow to resent her and the Phantom. Now her and her father are together." At least that was true. They were together. Christine merely nodded, but Raoul felt as though his lie had worked just as he wanted it to.

~-Opera Populaire~-~-~-~

"She looks like her," Madame Giry cooed as she took the baby into her arms, "And she has your eyes."

"I know, Madame," the Phantom said, looking to Madame Giry, "I want you to care for her. Just until she has grown a little." Madame Giry looked from the child to the Phantom.

"But..." she began, but the Phantom held up a hand to silence her.

"Take her," the Phantom said, "It can be your way of thanking me for not killing you when you betrayed me, Giry."

"You know I had no choice... " Madame Giry hissed angrily, "If I hadn't told them Meg and I would have gotten into much trouble. I would have lost my job and if you killed more and I never revealed you I would have been hung. Would you like that? Do you want me to hang Erik!?" The little girl screeched out a cry, as she had been woken from her sleep. The Phantom took a step back, frightened too by Madame Giry's outburst and the fact she had just... just...

"You used my name," he said softly, almost inaudible over his child's cries, "I did not think you remembered it, Madame." Madame Giry's hard face softened a bit as she looked upon the man she had cared for and served since she was just a young girl.

"I could not forget your name, Erik," she responded gently, giving him a small yet warm smile and bouncing the baby a little to sooth her until her cries toned down.

"Then why do you never use it?" the Phantom- or Erik- asked almost sadly. Madame Giry shook her head. She did not know why she had stopped calling the Phantom by his true name. Erik. Poor little Erik who she had saved from the circus where he was so vulnerable and so broken... Perhaps that was why Madame Giry stopped calling Erik just that. Because he had become strong and put himself together when he thought Christine truly loved him. He had been so sure of himself and had killed anyone in the was in the way of his confident plans, but now looking at him, she saw just how lost and broken and vulnerable he was once more. He was no longer the head-strong Phantom who had planned his keeping of Christine; this man before her was little Erik, lost and confused, but still stubbornly acting aflame about the previous year's events and not wanting to admit that deep down he was aching for compassion Christine had showed him.

"I don't know," Madame Giry lied with a smile to Erik, "But I will try to remember to call you Erik once more, my old friend."

"And will you keep her?" Erik asked hopefully, looking to his daughter and pressing a warm hand to her small cheek as she was becoming fussy once more, "Please? I don't know what to feed her or how to calm her..."

"Of course I will care for your child, Erik," Madame Giry comforted. A smile- a small smile, but a smile all the same- crossed onto Erik's face, something Madame Giry had not seen in quiet a long time. "And I will teach you to care for her yourself," she added.

"Thank you, Madame," Erik said, stroking his baby's cheek, "I must go now. There is business I must attend to."

"You never did tell me her name," Madame Giry reminded Erik as he turned away. The baby whimpered sadly. Erik smiled a little, knowing his child was already attached to himself.

"Her name is Florence," he said to Madame Giry, looking back into his baby's beautiful obsidian eyes. She looked back to his. Then he turned his head back to look before himself and stalked away down the corridor. He would probably never tell Madame Giry what a favor she was doing him, but he was very grateful for her help especially since he had never even held a baby before Florence.

Little Florence wriggled in Madame Giry's arms, and cried softly as Erik walked away. Madame Giry hushed the baby, and watched to as her father walked off. She wondered how he was planning on raising his child in a ruined Opera house which was beyond repair with the owners' budget not being able to fully pay the large fee of restoration. She shook her head, and then she too started down the corridor but in the opposite direction of Erik. She found her way to Christine Daae's room, a room that had not been entered since Christine had permanently fled from the opera house.

"I suppose this will one day be your room, little Florence," Madame Giry said softly, looking about the room. It was very dusty, and the mirror was propped open so one could obviously see it was a passage way. Madame Giry, shifting Florence so the child was supported by only one of her arms, walked into Christine's old room and shut the mirror back. Glancing around once more, Madame Giry saw a rose, vibrant red as if it had just been placed there a day ago. "And child," Madame Giry continued speaking to the child, tears welling in her eyes as she stared at it, "no matter how much your father may claim he hates your mother, always know he is lying. He loved her greatly... And he still does." With that, Madame Giry retreated from the room. Florence had fallen asleep comfortably in her arms.

Madame Giry started towards her own room which wasn't far from that of Christine's old one.

"Mama," Madame Giry heard her teenage daughter Meg call as she neared the room the two of them stayed in, "Mama, is that you?"

"Yes my dear," Madame Giry replied, pulling open one of a pair of white doors to reveal a rather large room. It was the room that belonged to La Carlotta when she still reigned as the Prima Donna over the opera house. It, like Christine's room, had not been damaged much in the fire. Two beds were pushed against the far wall on either side of a large wardrobe and the rest of the walls were pretty much empty as was the rest of the room. Meg sat on one of the two beds, a book open in her lap, one which she quickly threw aside when she saw the little baby in her mother's arms.

"It's adorable!" Meg squeaked. The sleeping baby squirmed in Madame Giry's arms and she hushed her daughter. "Sorry, Mama," Meg whispered, "but what a beautiful child!"

"It's a girl Meg, her name is Florence," Madame Giry informed her daughter.

"Oh looked at her," Meg crooned softly, admiring little Florence before realizing... "Mama, where did this child come from?" Madame Giry's lips pressed into a tight line as she thought of her answer. After a moment, she decided with the truth.

"It is the Phantom's child," she told her daughter, "The Phantom's and Christine's." Meg gasped almost dramatically.

"The Phantom and Christine?" Meg questioned. Her mother nodded, and then Meg went on to ask, "He is... still here? In the opera house?" Madame Giry tensed slightly, hearing the excitement in her daughter's question.

"Meg," she started, her tone warning, "do not seek the Phantom out, do you understand me? I do not want you to end up like Christine and I do not want you to turn to what he obsesses over." Meg flinched at her mother's stern tone. She nodded sadly. She wasn't planning on spending her free time with the Phantom as Christine had, she just wanted to meet the man whom she had secretly fantasized over ever since she was small and heard the older ballerina's talking about him. "Meg, do you understand me?" Madame Giry asked angrily.

"Yes, mama," Meg sighed. Her mother, though not fully convinced, nodded and walked to her own bed, singing a song she had once heard a crowd of masked dancers sing.

"Masquerade," she sang softly and slowly, "Paper faces on parade, masquerade. Hide your face so the world will never find you."


	4. Chapter 4

~Four years later~

"Papa! Papa!" a little voice screamed as a tiny figure sat bolt upright in the bed. Erik looked up from the desk where he had been writing a note for Madame Giry to deliver to see his child wrestling against the blankets that had covered her.

"Florence, my dear," he cooed soothingly as he stood and walked across his lair to his little girl was crying out for him, "What is wrong? Have you had another nightmare?" He pulled the blankets off and away from little Florence and pulled her to him. She was very petite even for her age, with her mother's curly dark hair and his black eyes... and a little bit of his disfiguration. That had been something he hadn't taken into to consideration, and as the child grew and developed it he had almost wept for her. Her pale and creamy skin seemed marred from the middle of her forehead down to her left ear, though it was nowhere as bad as his own mutilation. It was only a bit blotchy and red, and simply looked as if she had been badly cut or had an accident with a fire.

"Yes, papa," Florence cried softly into Erik's shoulder, "There was a man chasing me and screaming at me..." Erik frowned at this. She had dreamt this same dream many times, and it was truly a memory. Just the past year, Florence had wandered off from Madame Giry- who Erik had asked to take Florence for the day- and had gone to the theater where men had been trying to reconstruct the stage. A man had seen her and- thinking she was just a stray child who had come into the opera house unknowingly- had chased her from the room screaming at her to get out. Meg Giry fortunately heard the commotion and rushed to find Florence crying as she ran down the corridor and harshly told the man off for scaring the girl. When Erik had heard what had happened, he took care of the man.

"It was only a dream, my child," Erik soothed, running his fingers through her thick hair, "Your papa would never let anyone hurt you, darling." He kissed one of the long scar like gashes on his daughter's forehead.

"I know, papa," Florence said softly, beginning to calm down as she took in reality around her. Erik, knowing his daughter was not going to be able to go back to sleep, picked up the small girl and carried her back to his desk where he sat down with her in his lap. He picked up his quill, sighing as he saw an dark blotch that had formed on his paper from where the ink had leaked from the tip of the quill, then continued to write his letter. He would soon have it be delivered to Messieurs Andre and Firmin who had managed to hold on to the Opera Populaire thanks to Erik's own generous donation to the cause of rebuilding the opera house. The rebuilding had finished just a month before and now they were trying to find their various actors. Erik's letter was both one of reminder of his rules to run his opera house- which hopefully they would abide by unlike the last time- and one of recommendation for Meg Giry whom he had been told by Florence was an excellent singer.

"My dear," Erik said as he wrote, "how would you like to see Madame Giry today? Would you enjoy that?"

"Yes, papa!" Florence said happily, bouncing a bit on his lap. Erik chuckled, completing his letter. He looked it over and read it through:

_Dear Messieurs Andre and Firmin,_

_I would like to welcome you back to my opera house and remind you to leave box five open. I still require my salary of twenty-thousand francs, more if possible as I seem low of funds since my donation to the cause of rebuilding the Opera Populaire. I advise you not to try to rid the opera house of me. I hope that this time you follow my instructions gentlemen, as I would hate to have an accident like the last one._

_I would also like to put in a recommendation for Mademoiselle Giry. As I have heard from a little opera ghost, she is a most excellent singer. I incline you to take her as one of your cast._

_ I remain, as always gentlemen, your loyal servant,_

_ O.G._

He felt the note would cover anything they would need to know this time round, and folded it neatly before sliding it into an envelope... Except the fact that there was now a child among them... but they need not know the Phantom himself had a daughter. Erik took a small metal spoon-like object from where it rested above a candle. From it, he poured thick red wax to seal the envelope, then picked up his stamp and pushed it into the wax so it formed the shape of a skull.

"Go get dressed then, child," Erik said, shooing Florence from his lap. She laughed happily, then ran off to change from her night gown. Erik sighed contently as she watched the child and wondered if she would ever realize she was missing a mother. She had never asked of Christine, not once. Erik had a suspicion that Madame Giry may have warned her from asking, either that or Florence had accepted Madame Giry and Meg both as mothers. It didn't matter to Erik though, he already had the story made in his head the moment he realized Christine would not come to see her child. He would tell his daughter only the good things, not the bad. Not how she had been caught in the fool's trap, not how she had abandoned them both... No, to his daughter she would be seen as heroic and beautiful... and dead.

Florence was changed within moments, reappearing in a light blue dress that was a little too long, but was still very pretty on her. Erik smiled, then reached across the desk and grabbed a light blue mask with gold embellishments that he knew would match the dress quite nicely. Florence, however, scrunched up her nose at the mask.

"Florence," her father began, seeing that she was obviously unpleased, "my dearest, you know to visit Madame Giry in the opera house you must wear your mask." Florence sighed, but took the miniature mask and put it on, a small piece of elastic securing it round her head. Erik smiled. He knew his daughter hated her mask, but it was necessary. If she did not have it, her slight disfigurement would be seen and Erik was convinced everyone would realize she belonged to him. He could not let them know that.. They would use her to get to him. And it would work...

"Why must I always wear this?" Florence pouted, "Am I really that ugly, Papa?" Erik almost flinched at the question, and looked to his daughter with wide eyes.

"No! My dear child, you are the most beautiful creature who has ever touched this earth," Erik told his daughter in truth for he truly believed that, "My sweet, you must wear your mask to hide your beauty from the world, because they will not see it as your Papa does." Florence did not seemed convinced as she looked away from Erik, who was becoming rapidly worried, fearing for his daughter self-esteem. She was not an ugly child as he had been. No matter who called him the devil-spawn, he knew he must not have been because he helped to create an angel. "If you want to see ugliness," Erik said on a sudden thought, "you might as well turn to me."

Erik's sentence seemed to catch Florence's attention as she turned to her father to witness him removing his mask and dark colored wig. Yes, she had seen him before without these things, but never close up. Florence was silent, something Erik took as a bad sign as he put his head down to his hand to hide it from his daughter's eyes.

"My child, you are an angel- a beautiful, delicate angel- that somehow got sent to me through a miracle so I would have some beauty to be proud of... I'm sorry if my appearance has frightened you my child, I never meant to," Erik said as he felt tears brimming. He reached back to where his mask lay on the desk behind him, but stopped when he felt his daughter's small hand touch his distorted face. He looked up to her, and their black eyes met. Florence did not look frightened what so ever. She did, however, looked very curious and almost... astonished. But she couldn't have been astonished by his ugliness.

"Why do you say your ugly, Papa?" Florence asked softly, her small fingers caressing his hollow cheek, "I think you are marvelous." This small statement, did in fact make Erik's tears spill over. He had never been called so much as ordinary. Marvelous... well that didn't seem to describe him at all. Looking into his daughter's eyes, though, he knew she spoke truthfully from her heart and to him it didn't even matter what others thought any longer. His daughter thought him well looking. She thought _him_ marvelous. "Papa, why are you crying?" Florence then asked, "Did I say something wrong?" Erik wiped his eyes quickly before lifting Florence back onto his lap.

"No, my angel," he said softly, "you said everything I ever need to hear and more. You truly are an angel, little Florence." Florence smiled up at her father and he smiled lightly back, holding the tears that were still threatening to break through. "Sing for me, won't you my dear?" This simple question excited Florence very much. Like both parents she loved to sing, and like both parents she held the power to sing. She had not yet learned any real songs, but knew the notes to a tune that she often heard due to the music box Erik kept beside the bed. One shaped like a barrel with a monkey atop in Persian robes. Florence liked it very much, as Erik himself did. And so she sang the notes to that tune, forgetting a few now and then where Erik himself took charge.

Erik put Florence back on the ground, still singing the tune with her and leading her to the little boat that would take them to the tunnel.

Madame Giry was prepared for a full day, as it seemed the day was to be devoted to finding a whole new cast for the opera house and it's various productions. While a most of the management- such as Madame Giry, Monsieur Reyer, and the sceneshifters- and a handful ballerinas had stayed at the opera house through its turmoil, most had indeed left. La Carlotta had, of course, fled, as did many others. Yes, it was to be a busy day. That was why Madame Giry was little less than pleased to see Erik's daughter appear at her door.

"Florence," she sighed, "Child, this is not a good day for me to watch after you, I-"

"I can watch her, mama," Meg called from behind Madame Giry, rushing to the door as she knotted her hair into a bun atop her head. Madame Giry pursed her lips at the suggestion. She did not usually leave her daughter alone with Florence, for Florence had a tendency to wander and often needed two pairs of eyes to watch her... However, she did not want the child to have to find her way back to her father alone as Madame Giry could not take her and Meg certainly would not... She didn't even know if Florence could get back to her father's lair without assistance. Madame Giry also knew Florence was quite fond of Meg, and would most likely stay near her if Meg kept her attention.

"Okay, Meg," Madame Giry finally agreed. Florence smiled widely, seeing as she was not being turned away. "Just make sure you keep an eye on her. You know how she likes to roam."

"Thank you Madame," Florence chirped, wrapping her thin arms around Madame Giry's legs. Madame Giry couldn't help but smile at the adorable child.

"Come now, Florence, I must go," Madame Giry scolded lightly. Florence, still smiling, let go and stepped back before holding up an envelope her father had sent with her.

"Papa said this is for Messieurs Andre and Firmin," Florence informed Madame Giry seriously. Meg giggled softly, loving the look on the child's face as she tried to be as serious as her father was. Madame Giry took it, opened it, then read the letter inside through before putting it all into a deep pocket her long, dark dress possessed.

"Thank you, Florence," she then said to the little girl who had run inside the room just then giggling, "I will tell Messieurs Firmin and Andre of this immediately."

With that, Madame Giry swept off towards the theater. She was very pleased with the recommendation for her daughter to be in the opera, but this also frightened Madame Giry. If Erik heard her daughter sing, would he begin to want her in place of Christine? Madame Giry wasn't sure, but she knew she had to put out the recommendation for Erik's commands had to be followed.

"Messieurs," Madame Giry said as she walked into the theater to see Messieurs Firmin, Andre, and Reyer sitting in the front all holding what looked like a list.

"Ah, Madame Giry," Monsieur Firmin said, standing up as she walked down to them, "It is nice to see you."

"You won't think so when I give the news I bear," Madame Giry assured. Monsieur Firmin frowned.

"What news do you bear?" he asked nervously. Madame Giry reached into her pocket and pulled forth the note, holding it out for Monsieur Firmin who eyed it uneasily before taking it. His eyes grew wide as he read the note through, then he looked up to Madame Giry. "He... he can't still be here, Madame," he stuttered fearfully. Madame Giry only nodded.

"Who Firmin?" Monsieur Andre asked, starting towards them.

"The Opera Ghost," Monsieur Firmin responded bitterly. Monsieur Andre stopped dead in his tracks, and shook his head.

"No," he said, "No it is impossible."

"I suggest you do as he say," Madame Giry said simply as she walked to take a spot my Monsieur Reyer who was white as a sheet, "Perhaps this time he shall not burn the opera house to the ground, but then he also used most of his own funds to see it restored."

"What are you speaking of Madame?" Monsieur Firmin asked, still frightened and looking to and fro as if Erik would suddenly appear.

"It says in the letter, Monsieur," Madame Giry responded with a nod, sitting down in the red velvet opera chair, "He was your anonymous donor, not the Vicomte as you were so convinced." Firmin did not make an attempt to respond as the first singer had come into view on the stage. Messieurs Firmin and Andre took their seats with Madame Giry and Monsieur Reyer.

Madame Giry's mind, however, was not on the pitchy woman that sang on the stage. She was thinking of little Florence and Meg. These two, however, were not thinking of Madame Giry. They were discussing Florence's father.

"He sings a lot," Little Florence said as the two strolled about in the corridors of the Opera Populaire, "I think you would like him. He is very nice... but today he said to me that he was ugly and showed me his face, but I didn't think he was ugly at all. Meg, do you think my Papa is ugly?"

"Well, I know many are frighten of him, but I have never met him before," Meg responded to the small girl, "I am sure he is truly lovely, though." Meg had, indeed seen Florence's father's face, but only once. And only for an instant. She didn't think it was ugly per say... just different like the man who belonged to it was.

"He is," Florence said with a wide smile up at Meg, but then something caught her attention. Singing. Loud, awful singing, but singing. Meg lifted her head to see before her was the large doors that opened to the theater. She was about to grab the little girl's shoulder when the child of question pushed them open and ran inside. Meg almost screamed. Florence wasn't to be seen.

The sight of the large theater captivated Florence however. So much that she did not hear the shout from the woman on the stage.

"Who is that?" she said in a thickly accented voice, "A child? In an opera house?" Madame Giry's head snapped around and her eyes found the child.

"Florence!" she cried out, standing as the Messieurs did.

"You know this girl?" Monsieur Andre asked, looking to Madame Giry. At that moment, Meg entered the room and immediately grabbed Florence's arm roughly, scolding her.

"We watch this child for her father," Madame Giry said solemnly, shaking her head. She knew she should not have left Meg in charge of a child such as Florence.

"I'm sorry, Messieurs," Meg called, obviously flustered, "She heard the singing. She's very drawn to music. I will take her back to the bedroom." Monsieur Firmin nodded, then remembered what the note said. The Opera Ghost wanted Meg to sing for them.

"No, Meg- ah- it is fine. In fact, I'd be pleased if both of you stayed," he announced looking to Monsieur Andre who looked very much confused, but then, he had not yet read the letter. The little girl beside Meg looked up at her smiling, dark eyes shining behind a mask.

"May I start now?" the woman on the stage complained haughtily. Monsieur Firmin waved a hand to quiet her.

"I think it's best we not stay," Meg said uncertainly, thinking of Florence's father.

"I insist," Monsieur Firmin told her, motioning for her and Florence to come forward. Meg, still holding Florence's arm, led her down the row to where her mother stood with the Messieurs. Madame Giry looked to Florence and held out a hand. Florence pulled free from Meg, who she knew was very upset with her, and went to Madame Giry who sat in her chair before placing Florence in her lap. Florence leaned into Madame Giry who had wrapped her arms around the child in a comforting way. She knew that Florence should not have gone from Meg, but they both knew how drawn the child was to music and with auditions today, Meg should have kept Florence in the room. "Go on now, Mademoiselle," Monsieur Firmin said as he, the other messieurs, and Meg all took their seats. The woman nodded, then began her singing. Florence crinkled her nose at the off notes. This woman could not sing- not well at least. However, the song she sang was nice. From what Florence could make out, it was a song sung to a lover by a poor woman.

"I believe that is all we need to hear," Monsieur Andre suddenly cut into the song, sounding almost frightened by the woman's singing.

"Yes- ah- we will get back to you, mademoiselle," Monsieur Firmin added, looking to Monsieur Reyer and Madame Giry for support. However both did not seem in a mood to give false hope to the diva, who huffed before marching off the stage.

And that was how the day went. Singer after singer, diva after arrogant diva. Florence sat quietly, listening to each and making her silent selection of favorites. While most of the auditioned women could not in fact sing, there were around ten who could. About two of them actually seemed humble. Those were the ones that Florence liked. However, her favorite had not even sang when the Messieurs finally called the days auditions to an end.

"Did you see any you liked?" Monsieur Firmin asked the others, standing from his chair.

" About seven," Monsieur Andre responded quickly, shaking his head, "Few could sing... even less of them even looked presentable for an opera." Monsieur Reyer nodded in agreement.

"Of course, we do have one more audition," Monsieur Firmin announced, looking round so his eyes landed on Meg, who- upon realizing he was speaking of her- was utterly shocked.

"Me?!" she practically screamed, "Monsieur, I have never trained as a singer! I am simply a ballerina-"

"You have been requested," Madame Giry told her daughter coolly, looking down to little Florence who smiled widely at Meg.

"B-but, by who? Who would request for me to sing?" Meg asked, bewildered. She nervously looked around as if the culprit would burst through the door. However no one did. "I am just not sure I can.."

"Please sing?" Florence finally asked, knowing Meg should show her gift, "Please Meg?" Meg looked to the child. Silently, she begged to be let from the pressure of singing, but the pleading look on Florence's face told her the child really wanted to hear her. She couldn't say no to Florence. And so Meg stood, walked from her chair, and made her way to the stage, thinking of what she could possible sing. However, as soon as she stood there facing the thousands of seats, a song instantly came to her; it was the first song Christine had preformed... 'Think of Me'.

The lyrics spilled from her as she knew the song perfectly. Florence, who had laid half asleep against Madame Giry the whole audition session, was now totally alert and watching Meg eagerly. The Messieurs looked amazed as they watched, as if they doubted she could sing, while Madame Giry looked simply proud.

When the song was over, an applause followed by all in the audience. Even the audience standing unknown and hidden up in box five.


	5. Chapter 5

"Marvelous!" Monsieur Firmin exclaimed, "Magnificent!" All the audience applauded, however the loudest seemed to be Florence, Meg Giry's number one fan. And this fact brought a bit of unwanted attention to her suddenly.

"Who's child did you say she was?"Monsieur Andre asked, looking over little Florence.

"A coachman's daughter, very close friend," Madame Giry lied quickly, having known the question would eventually come up.

"A coachman?" Monsieur Andre kept on.

"Yes, a Monsieur Erik de Phant," Madame Giry went on, knowing it was completely safe to use the Phantom's real name as no one but herself and perhaps Florence knew it, "Lovely fellow. Very busy though, not much time for himself or his little girl. He has no wife." Monsieur Andre nodded, but one more question was playing on his mind and Madame Giry knew exactly what it was. And, up in box five, Erik was anticipating it, ready to leap into custody's arms if it meant the safety of his child.

"Why does she wear a mask, Madame?" Monsieur Andre finally asked, his question drawing the attention of the other two messieurs who hadn't really been paying attention to Florence until that point.

"Well, Monsieur," Madame Giry began, "if you must know, there was an accident. A fire, an awful fire, somehow started in the de Phant home when Florence was only a mere baby. Monsieur de Phant was not home; just his wife and Florence were in the house when it sprung about. Killed Florence's mother, a true tragedy as she was a marvelous woman. Some brave soul, however, was able to somehow save little Florence. It is a miracle she survived, messieurs, but there was some damage to her face and she is today very self conscious of it." The messieurs all nodded, seeming pleased with the explanation.

"I am very sorry to you, young Florence," Monsieur Firmin said solemnly, before turning to Meg and smiling, "But I am sure you will be happy to hear we have found our new lead for the next opera! Mademoiselle Meg Giry!" Meg's eyes grew wide.

"Monsieur, do you mean it?!" she almost screamed, so excited she was shaking. She could not imagine it, herself a singer! A singer for the Opera Populaire. Everyone seemed quite pleased. Even the now very confused Florence wore a smile as her mind bounded onto something she had never thought about- her mother. And in box five, Erik knew that the questions of Christine would be coming soon. At least Madame Giry had come up with a good cause of death, though... A fire, no body to bury, no grave. Perhaps, if Florence wanted, Erik could take her to see where her grandfather rested for he believed he remembered the spot.

"Yes Mademoiselle," Monsieur Firmin confirmed with a nod. Meg grinned broadly, feeling the happiest she had ever been. Looking up, she imagined what it might be like if the audience was full, and during her scanning she saw him. Right there in box five was the Phantom of the Opera, watching her. She saw him nod, perhaps in approval, then he disappeared into the shadows and in that instant, Meg became even happier.


	6. Chapter 6

"Come Florence," Madame Giry said, shooing the child from her lap as she stood, "Your father will be expecting you soon."

"Yes, Madame Giry," Florence said, following close behind the woman as she made her way to exit the auditorium. She looked back round to say, "Goodbye Meg!" Then she was rushed from the room, leaving the Messieurs and Meg behind. Madame Giry took hold of Florence's shoulder and led her through the corridors.

"Now, Florence," she began, knowing the girl needed some scolding for what she had done, bursting into the auditions earlier, "you do know what you did earlier was very dangerous, don't you? You cannot just go running about, child."

"I just wanted to hear the singing," Florence mumbled in response, knowing Madame Giry was indeed right. Even her father told her running off was dangerous. "I'm sorry," she finally sighed, "I should not have run off, I-"

"It is alright, my child," a deep voice rang from the shadows cast by the large grand stair case. A deep voice that made the chastised child smile.

"Papa!" she called happily. Madame Giry lifted her hand from Florence just in time for her to follow her father's voice into the shadows. Erik did not appear to Madame Giry, nor did he or Florence speak another word for both had escaped into the darkness as the phantoms they were.

Madame Giry waited only a moment before turning and departing, on her way back to her own room. That was the last she was to see of Florence or her father for some weeks, as Erik knew that after the incident of Florence being seen on such a low crowd day, the threat of her being seen once more was ever growing as the Opera Populaire prepared for its first show since it had closed down years ago. Besides, both the Giry's were busy- Meg practicing for her big debut, and Madame Giry training new ballerinas- and so there were none at hand to watch little Florence. And so the child and her father eagerly awaited the show day, the day Erik promised he would show Florence to his box so they may together watch Meg sing.

"She is such a lovely singer, Papa," Florence would tell her father whenever he mentioned Meg, "I wish I had a voice as wonderful as hers!"

"Oh, you will," Erik would reply, with a smile, "I, myself, will train you." Then he would frown a bit, thinking of how his daughter would never be able to use her talent for the opera. But still, he would then ask his little darling to sing and she would, now knowing a song. The one Meg had sang for her audition; the one her mother had sang during her first appearance. The beautiful song would almost bring Erik to tears...

~de Changy Manor~~~~~

"Raoul!" Christine called through the house, seeking her husband, "Oh, Raoul, where are you!"

"In here, my dear," Raoul responded from where he sat in the study. Looking up from the newspaper he had been reading, Raoul saw his lovely wife standing in the doorway, grinning. In her hand she waved about an envelope.

"I have received a letter! One from Meg Giry, the darling girl!" Christine informed her husband, "She has invited us to come see her perform at the Opera Populaire! She is the lead, Raoul! Little Meg Giry, my dear friend! We must go!" Raoul was quite alarmed. Never did he think he would hear Christine ask to go back to the opera house... Never..

"But, dear," Raoul started, "what about the Phantom? Those haunting memories? Do you really want to go back to that wretched place?" Of course, Christine thought the Phantom dead. But either way, her face paled a bit and her expression dropped. Her hand, stroked her stomach lightly and Raoul knew he had stirred memories of her child; her first and only child. Little Florence, who had died in the bitter cold of the winter- or so Christine thought. Since the little girl, Christine had only had one child. It was a little boy. A still born child.

"I want to see Meg," Christine said, much less enthusiastically, "And Madame Giry and the rest. The Phantom is no longer there, you said it yourself, Raoul." This statement made Raoul sigh. He knew he wouldn't be able to weasel himself out, and so he gave in with a nod.

"When is it?" Raoul asked, having an awful and foreboding feeling.

"Tomorrow," Christine told her husband before fleeing the room.

~Opera Populaire~~~~~

"Today is the day, my child," Erik almost sang, waking his daughter from her nap. Erik had decided it was best she sleep the day so she would be awake for the opera. It was only an hour away now. Florence pushed back the blankets and stretched her arms out above her head. "Did you sleep well?" Erik asked, going to a dresser near the bed and beginning to search through Florence's many dresses. Finding the one he was looking for, he whipped it out. A black dress, fancy for a girl Florence's age, but very beautiful with a long, puffy skirt, a lace bodice, and long sleeves.

"Yes, Papa," Florence responded as her father handed her the dress she was to wear, "No nightmares." Erik smiled, before turning and leaving Florence to change. Going to his desk a room over, he began looking for the mask he had picked out for his daughter for the occasion and quickly spotted it beside his own. White porcelain, plain, but with simple loveliness. When Florence came into the room, she took the mask without argument and put it on as her father did the same with his.

Erik then took his daughter's hand and led her to the boat on the ravine as the two were now ready to make their way to box five.

Elsewhere, however, things were not so calm. In fact, back stage, things were downright hectic. Meg Giry was being rushed around the opera, having had to be introduced to many patrons before going to get into costume. She had even seen Christine, someone she had not expected to show up even though Meg had invited her. Beside her had been Raoul, looking as if he were afraid, something that led Meg to believe he knew the Phantom of the Opera was still about.

Now, Meg was in her dressing room, twenty minutes until the opera began. Her hair was receiving last minute decoration, and before she knew it Meg was onstage awaiting the curtains to be peeled back from placement. Her heart was beating rapidly, but not because of the large crowd she knew awaited her. No, it was because of him. _The Phantom_. Meg just _knew_ he would be there watching and she wanted to please him with her voice. And so when the curtains opened and she began singing, she looked straight to box five.

There he was. The Phantom and Florence, both smiling at her, their porcelain masks concealing their deformities. Throughout the whole first act, Meg's eyes remained fixed on box five and while most thought she was only nervous, a certain few had a different feeling. Madame Giry knew her daughter was watching Erik as she looked on from the sides of the stage, and looking to box five, she saw Erik was returning Meg's gaze.

Sadly, Madame Giry was not the only one. It took Christine awhile, but she did in fact realize that Meg's attention was elsewhere. It wasn't just a simple case of stage fright due to the abounding audience. No, she was watching something, and so during the final song, Christine followed her old friends gaze to the boxes. That was when her heart almost stopped. Standing there, in that box, was the one who haunted her nightmares. The Phantom. _He was supposed to be dead_, Christine thought. Yet there he was, mask and all... And what horrified her even more was what was beside him. It was a child, a small girl from the look at the long and curling hair. _Her hair_. Christine blinked, then found the Phantom was looking straight at her. From where she was, Christine saw him smile before his hand grasped onto the child's shoulder. The child looked to him as Christine whipped her head around.

"Raoul," she whispered fearfully, "Look!" She looked back to the spot, Raoul following her gaze. But there was no one there; the box was completely empty.

The couple looked back to the stage just as the curtain closed. On stage, Christine could see Meg, still staring into that box with a look of almost... disappointment on her face.

It was time for the intermission. Ladies and gentlemen began moving slightly, stretching out to prepare for the next few hours. All Christine could do however, was sit straight and tense.

"Darling, what is wrong?" Raoul asked softly, not wanting to bring attention to himself and his wife.

"I-it was..." Christine whispered, "It was him... It was the Phantom, Raoul, and... and he had a little... a little girl..." Raoul's face paled, but he kept himself composed.

"Christine, you must have been dreaming," he comforted, reaching a hand out to sooth her. However she caught it in her own delicate fingers. Christine looked to Raoul, looking very angry all of a sudden.

"That's what you said when I first saw him, Raoul," raising her voice a little so the people seated directly around them stirred uncomfortably.

"Darling, do not make a scene," Raoul hissed, trying to stay calm, "I have told you Christine, the child and the Phantom are dead. Whatever you saw was only a figment of your imagination. There is no more Phantom of the Opera." Christine's lip quivered at having been rebuked. She took her hand from Raoul's and sat straight in her seat, looking right at the stage but not seeing much through watery eyes. And that's how she remained through the intermission, and then through the rest of the opera in which Meg did not look back to box five.

Christine couldn't believe it; her husband didn't believe her. Again. She had seen him- the Phantom and this time with him a child. And she knew it was her child. And that's why at the end of the opera, Christine excused herself from Raoul saying she was going to congratulate Meg. However, the truth was she was going to her old room.

She found it unlocked, and in an abandoned spot making it easy to sneak in to. When she opened the door, a cloud of dust puffed up, making her sneeze. She wiped her nose on her long sleeve before entering. Looking around, she saw everything was untouched, dusty, and dull... well, all but one part.

On her old vanity sat a rose among the gray specks of filth, as vibrant and bright as if someone had sat it there moments ago. Christine slowly closed the door and began towards the rose in the dim light of the moon. when she was finally close enough to touch the flower, she reached her hand out so her fingers stroked a bright petal.

"Christine," the familiar voice hissed like a snake, the sound quickly filling the room. Christine's hand flinched from the rose as she looked quickly around. "My dear," it growled, "So have you returned finally to see me? Or are your interests in your abandoned child?" Christine looked around and saw him, mask and all, in the mirror.

"Where is she?" Christine asked, her voice a mere breath. A smile weaved its way onto the Phantom's face.

"Well," he said, cocking his head to the side, "wouldn't you just love to know?"

"Where is she?!" Christine screamed at the mirror. The Phantom laughed at her rage.

"She is mine, Christine," he said softly, "And she is with me. You will never know her."

"You monster!" Christine cried, raised her hands up in fists to hit him. However when she tried, all she hit was her reflection in the mirror. He was once again gone. "You demon!" Christine screeched, knowing his tricks.

"Christine?" someone suddenly said from outside of the door. It flew open, dust flying into the air, to reveal Madame Giry with some nervous ballerinas trailing her.

"Madame Giry.." Christine's voice lowered, "It... it was him, Madame. The Phantom." The ballerinas all paled as a group, looking terrified. They all looked to Madame Giry. The old woman was shaking her head.

"Christine, this place is no good for you. You are seeing things," she lied, though to all listening, she sounded completely sincere, "The Phantom is dead now. He will not and cannot hurt anybody ever again."

"But, Madame Giry, I saw him earlier," Christine explained, practically pleading for some belief, "He had her with him... My little girl." Madame Giry sighed, shaking her head once more.

"You need to get out of here, Christine," Madame Giry told the girl, reaching to her and grasping her wrist, "The memories are just too much for you right now. Perhaps, dear, you should talk to someone about all this." And with that, Madame Giry led Christine out of the opera house, shooing the ballerinas to their dorms as she did.

Soon, the opera was stripped of patrons, and everyone was soundly sleeping. All but one. Meg Giry had heard the commotion earlier, as she had been going to Christine's room at the time. After the Phantom had disappeared, a note had floated down from the rafter's to her, saying she was to make an appearance to the Phantom after the show; he wanted to speak to her. However, Christine had made it there first. So now, tip-toeing through corridors was Meg, slowly approaching Christine's old room.

When she arrived, she carefully opened the door, not wanting it to creak. Barely any dust rose up, but she could feel it matting on the bottoms of her bare feet as she walked in. She closed the door silently behind her, and then looked around. The room was definitely untouched; it hadn't even been cleaned since Christine left. No one wanted to enter a cursed room. The only thing that looked new was a very bright, very red rose sitting on the vanity.

"It's for you, Meg," a voice came out, soft and deep. Meg closed her eyes at the beautiful voice, savoring it. Looking round, she saw him- right beside her. He gently touched her shoulder. "You have an amazing voice; better than my own prodigy if I do say so myself." He said the word prodigy with a tone that almost suggested.. hurt. And through that, Meg knew he meant Christine- that she was his prodigy. And she was better. At that she smiled softly.

"Thank you," she said quietly, looking to the tall figure, into his pitch black eyes.

"Take it," the Phantom whispered, removing his hand and taking a step back. Meg looked to the divine rose and carefully took it from its dusty pedestal. She looked back to where the Phantom had been, but as she had guessed, he had gone.


	7. Chapter 7

"I cannot believe this, Meg," Madame Giry hissed angrily, snatching the rose from her daughter's hands, "How could you accept a gift from the Phantom, you insolent child!?"

"He only was being polite, mother," Meg explained, reaching out for the delicate rose, only to have it held out her reach from where she sat on her bed, "He just said he enjoyed my singing." Madame Giry shook her head, turning to walk to the wastebasket beside the door. She broke the rose's spiked stem and dropped both halves of the flower into the bin.

"There is no polite, Meg," Madame Giry growled under her breath, "Not with him. If you are not careful you will become his next obsession... You will not see him again, is that clear, Meg? You will do your job and then you will come to our room and stay until you are next needed. There will be no more Phantom and as for Florence, well.. she is no longer welcome."

"Mother!" Meg exclaimed angrily, "You cannot exclude the child from our lives! She sees us as mothers-"

"You are not her mother, Meg!" Madame Giry howled, furious, "Her mother is dead to her! She has no mother and you shall not be the one to fill that spot-"

"If I am allowed, I will in fact fill that spot for Florence," Meg interrupted fiercely, her eyebrows sinking into a most angry look, "You cannot stop me, mother. I am not a child any longer; I control my own life now!"

And with that, the room went silent. Meg laid down in her bed, turning her back to her mother.


	8. Chapter 8

"Florence, my dear," Erik sighed, sitting down on his daughter's bed, "I believe we are going to have to make some changes to our current daily activities." Florence frowned, not exactly understanding her father's words. She crawled across the ruffled sheets to sit beside her father, who pulled her into his lap.

"What do you mean, Papa?" Florence asked, her head tilted to the side so light shown upon her slight disfiguration.

"My dearest child," Erik sighed, "I can no longer allow you to wander about the opera house- not even in the presence of the Giry's." Florence pouted at this. What was she supposed to do? Live her full life in the underground lair of her father? Never see Madame Giry or Meg again? Erik, sensing Florence's disappointment and distress, hugged the child close to himself. "Now, now," he cooed to her, "do not fret. There are many ways to move around the Opera Populaire without being seen, and I shall teach you all of them. As for the Giry's... well, there is a room. A room with a secret passage we can access through the many passages. We may invite Meg to occupy it, if you would wish, my Florence."

"Would that mean I would still be able to spend time with Meg?" Florence asked, hopefully. Erik smiled.

"Yes, my darling," he assured her, "If she is in that room, then you may visit her to your heart's content. And sometimes, I may even be able to join you if she resides there."

"Yes then!" Florence cheered, excited that perhaps her father could come to meet Meg with herself. Perhaps Meg would even sing for him, and then he could see how well at it she was. Of course, he had heard her at her premiere, but it wasn't the same as being up close.

"I shall send word to her in the morning then," Erik declared, smiling at his child, "And you may visit her as soon as she is moved in. But, for now, I do believe it is time you went to sleep."

"But, Papa, I have slept most the day! I am not sleepy!" Florence protested, her face a pout. Erik wanted to tell her she needed the sleep anyway, but having a soft spot when it came to his daughter, he only shook his head.

"My Florence, are you going to be turning nocturnal on me?" Erik asked, standing with Florence still cradled in his arms.

"Yes, Papa!" Florence laughed, "I shall be a bat, and soar through the opera house at night!" Erik couldn't help but laugh with his daughter at this. She was exactly like him sometimes, it seemed.

"Well then, my little night owl," Erik chuckled, walking to a mirror in his own lair that was actually a door of sorts, "I suppose we may start exploring the secrets of the Opera Populaire."

Meg awoke early in the morning to see her mother was still asleep. Little light came through the windows, which Meg found odd. She had not pulled the curtains closed and her mother would not have. She glanced up to the wall between her and her mother's beds to see an aging clock which read that it was eleven. Meg sat bolt upright and jumped out of her bed. She would be late for rehearsals!

Rushing around her room to ready herself, Meg didn't even notice an envelope lying on the bedside table until she was about to wake her mother. Meg, immediately curious, didn't even shake her mother once before she reached for the letter. It was addressed to her in a beautiful sort of scrawl. Flipping it over she found a crimson skull seal was holding the letter closed and quickly peeled it off. Meg then opened the envelope and took from it a letter written in the same script:

_Dear Meg Giry,_

_ I wish you to be moved into Christine Daae's old apartment in the Opera Populaire. I have already made the arrangements between the Messieurs and they will not dare go against my word. The room has been cleaned and is awaiting you. Pack your things. Do not tell your mother until you have left._

_I wish to see you soon,_

_O.G._

Meg could only stare for a moment, and then reality hit her. She was to move into Christine's old room. Meg quietly ran about the room she was currently in, on her toes, collecting her belongings- which wasn't really much. After only ten minutes did she slip from the room with a small bundle of clothes and a sack of odds and ins such as socks and knick-knacks.

The opera house was quiet as she made her way through it, as if no one was there. Perhaps she had mistaken and today was a day off? But she was sure they'd have a rehearsal with a show the next night. Either way, Meg quickly found herself outside Christine Daae's old room. She was about to reach out for the door knob, when the door opened itself. Or, Meg thought it had until she saw little Florence standing there, her mask hiding the top portion of her face.

"Florence?" Meg asked, as the child stood aside to let her in.

"Papa said I could help you move into your new room," the child announced. Meg smiled and walked in, allowing Florence to shut the door with an almost inaudible click.

"So, this is my new place, hm?" Meg asked, though it was more of a rhetorical question. The room had indeed been dusted, the fixtures now almost reflective, and the floor had been swept. Now that it was clean, this room was beautiful.

"Papa said I can visit you here now, because I cannot come into the open anymore," Florence explained, a bit sadly, "There is a passage that leads straight here from my and Papa's room. He said he may even come sometimes." Meg smiled softly at the thought, though she knew her mother would be very unhappy with it. She had just told Meg the night before that she was only to be in the rehearsal area, and then in her bedroom. In fact, her mother had wanted to sever all contact with Florence and her father. And now, Meg was living with a direct link to their lair. She felt so... good, surprisingly, at breaking her mother's rules.

"Well, I will always be eagerly awaiting your visits, Florence," Meg promised the child, who smiled. Then the two set to work, putting away Meg's possessions and afterwards Meg bid Florence goodbye, as she really needed to be at rehearsal.

She arrived late, of course, but no one seemed to care. Meg was the Prima Donna now. Things went by her rules. And so, rehearsal progressed. The Messieurs and Madame Giry watched on, but as the Messieurs were watching the performance as a whole, Madame Giry only had eyes for her daughter. She had been awake that morning, though she had not tried to stop Meg as she had gathered her things. She understood that was a hopeless case and Meg was no longer going to listen to her. All Madame Giry could do was watch on as her daughter made unruly decisions.

"Good job today, Meg," Madame Giry mumbled to her daughter as she hurried out of the theater after the rehearsal was over . Meg faltered in her steps, looking round to see her mother's knowing gaze. Meg nodded her thanks, then continued on her way.

That was the last Madame Giry spoke to, or of her daughter for a very long time.


	9. Chapter 9

~Twelve Years Later~

A creak filled the bedroom as the mirror slowly opened. A curly haired head poked out, eyes and forehead masked behind white porcelain.

"Meg?" the soft voice whispered into the empty room. Pushing the mirror so it was fully open, Florence tip toed onto the cold wooden.

"Good evening, Florence," the sing song voice spoke. Florence jumped slightly and looked to the vanity that Meg had pushed to a corner. There sat the blonde prima donna, smiling at Meg through the mirror as she brushed her hair in dim candle light. "What brings you here at such a late hour, child?" Meg went on to ask, setting her brush down and spinning on the wooden bench on which she was sitting.

"Papa wished me to announce his appearance to you," Florence declared, returning Meg's smile, "He should be here in around ten minutes." Meg nodded, and then stood, beckoning Florence too her. The young girl walked on her toes to where Meg was, the old wooden floor silent beneath her light weight and nimble feet.

"Sit," Meg invited, and Florence took the invitation. She plopped down onto the bench with form that would make her father chastise her. After all, she was to be a proper young lady. Meg reached around Florence to grab the brush. "You need to take your mask off, dear," Meg instructed.

"Yes, Meg," Florence obeyed, taking the piece of cold porcelain from where it had sat balanced on the arc of her nose. Meg smiled as she began to brush through Florence's almost unruly hair. Florence closed her eyes, liking the feeling of having her hair sifted through. Meg smiled at the young girl's content. She was such a happy person, always positive. She had never known hate or heartbreak or death; her father had made sure of that. However, she had tasted loss of sorts when Meg's mother refused to see Florence or Erik any longer. Florence had been small and hadn't understood why the woman no longer wanted to see her. However, she had been young enough where by a years time, she no longer remembered Madame Giry.

Meg lost track of time as she made Florence's usually wild hair lay flat, still curled but more gentle than before. It wasn't until a hand touched her shoulder did she stop, turning to the person whom had touched her. The small smile she had donned before widened into a grin as she saw exactly who she had been waiting for. Dipping into a curtsy, she greeted her love.

"Monsieur Erik," she breathed, still finding herself blushing in his presence even when he had started gracing her with it the night after she moved into the room. Erik, his face still half hidden by his mask, smiled softly at Meg.

"Mademoiselle," he greeted, taking her hand and slowly kissing it, watching the blush creep down her neck. He loved kissing her hand just to watch that happen; to watch his beloved blush. Yes, Erik had found a new love in Meg Giry and it was much better than the romance he had shared with Christine. This was intimate- at least when Florence wasn't around- and it was a mutual feeling being shared. Meg loved Erik back.

"I suppose Florence delivered my message to you?" Erik presumed, and Meg nodded her head in response.

"I told you I would, Papa," Florence giggled, "Did you not believe me?" Erik let Meg's hand slip from his as he turned to his beautiful daughter.

"Of course I believed you darling," Erik reassured Florence with a laugh, "But you know how forgetful you can sometimes be." Florence bit her lip, looking down for a moment. She was, indeed, very forgetful and could be distracted easily. "It's okay my dearest," Erik chuckled, holding out a hand to his daughter and helping her up, "Everyone has flaws. Yours just happen to be forgetfulness and staying up too late." Florence groaned at the last part about her staying up too late. She knew exactly what that meant- it was time for her to go to bed.

"Papa, it isn't that late," Florence negotiated, but her father shook his head.

"Go to bed, my dear Florence," he said softly, cradling her head in his hands for a moment before kissing her forehead. He then sent Florence off through the mirror, leaving him alone with Meg Giry. Erik waited until the mirror closed completely before turning to Meg. He lightly brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, then went in for a kiss which landed perfectly of Meg's lips. Erik's life was getting better every day, it seemed, and he could only hope it would continue that way.


	10. Chapter 10

When Florence was finally sitting in her large bed, after trekking through the various tunnels hidden within the Opera Populaire, she found herself not tired whatsoever. In fact, she was wide awake. Florence sighed. She would not be able to sleep- she knew that was certain. Florence had slept late into what she supposed was the day, only having awoken maybe six hours ago.

Getting up from her bed, Florence paced the room. It was something she had picked up over the years, watching her father- he tended to pace a lot... Florence, thinking to herself, knew her father wouldn't be coming back to her for the next few hours. He never did when he was visiting with Meg.

"What to do?" Florence breathed, nibbling on her lip. Her pacing stopped as a smile broke over her face. She knew exactly what she wanted to do. Walking to the desk on which her masks were displayed, she picked up on black as night, before slinging on a matching cloak and dashing silently to one of the many hidden doorways. She was headed to the stables- a place she hadn't been in quite a while. She knew, technically, she wasn't suppose in the stables without her father- he had told her that the first time he had taken her there when she was ten years old- but she was drawn to the animals. And so she found it in times when both her father and Meg were occupied, she would do her best to find her way down to the stables.

The passage to the stable house never took Florence long to get to, especially when she ran. The piece of wall made no noise as it was pushed from its tight placement. Florence heard some of the horses stir as she lifted the hood to cover her hair. She pushed the secret doorway just so it was unnoticeable- she needed to be able to get back in the one way opening. Florence's callused bare feet padded lightly on soft hay underfoot, making no sound as Florence looked upon the horses, ensuring their conditions were well. As she thought, the carriage horses were probably the most fed and cared for, but the personal riding horses were still nicely maintained.

Florence stopped outside one of the riding horses' stalls, that of a plain tan gelding she had come to call Beau. He was her favorite, being the most social of the selection of fine horses. She stood on her toes, reaching over the door, and gently pulled his coarse tail.

"Oh, Beau," she sang in a soft whisper. The horse let out a low nicker, swishing its tail as he turned to face Florence. "Oh my Beau," Florence giggled softly as the horse nuzzled her cheek, "We must stay quiet, you silly creature! No one is allowed to know I'm here..." Florence swore she saw the horse roll its eyes at her reminder, and then.. she felt as if another pair of eyes was digging into her back.

Though she could not see him in the dark, he could see her in the brilliant beams of moonlight that sometimes sank through the windows of the stable. He was sitting up in the lofts, where his father and the rest of the coachmen and workers stayed. Wondering if he should confront the girl slinking in the darkness the young man slid under the railing that kept one from falling from the loft. As the young man pushed himself off the edge of the loft, landing almost silently in a heap of hay, he decided it's probably be best if he at least approached the strange girl, even if not to confront her.

Florence heard him before he even made his presence known. The gentle crunch of hay was all that was needed to remind her she was not in the right place and make her body go rigid. She did not move, though, in hopes perhaps she blended into the darkness.

"May I ask what you are doing here?" the young man's deep voice whispered. Florence took in a shaky breath before looking to the young man. He was around her age, maybe a few years her senior, and lanky with light features. "What's a pretty girl doing out this late? Are you lost?" the young man continued questioning in a low tone. The girl truly was lovely, though most of her features were hidden. Still he could make out a few things; porcelain-like skin, a petite stature, pale pink lips, and unbelievably dark eyes devoured his thoughts as he examined Florence.

"No," Florence answered softly, "I.. I live in the Opera Populaire." The boy looked over the girl's face once more, half veiled by the shadowy mask. He had met most of the ballerinas in the Opera Populaire- in fact, he had laid with a few of them- but he didn't seem to place any of the features to the rather plain ballerinas.

"I've never seen you before," the young man informed Florence, who bit her lip, "Are you sure you live here?"

"Yes," Florence nodded, nervously, "I have lived here all my life, actually." The young man arced an eyebrow, unbelievingly. The girl was at least eighteen- his own age- and the Opera Populaire had only been reconstructed maybe twelve years before.

"What's your name?" the young man asked, smirking at Florence.

"What's yours?" she countered quickly, taking a step away from the young man.

"Olivier. Olivier Hutchman," the young man answered, before inquiring, "And your name, Mademoiselle?"

Florence opened her mouth, about to tell Olivier her name- only the first name- when a low voice said it for her, over and over.

"Florence... Florence..." She paled immensely, her already light skin becoming stark white.

"I must go," she breathed, and then ran past Olivier back the way she came. Caught off guard, he only spun to watch the girl disappear into the darkness.

"Wait!" he suddenly called after her, probably waking up some of the others in the loft, "Wait! Mademoiselle! You are going the wrong way!" Olivier came to the end of the stables to find... nothing. The girl had disappeared.

Olivier rubbed the back of his neck as he walked back to the front of the stable where the latter to the loft was. Of course, as soon as he was in view of the people lined at the loft's edge, he felt something light strike his head. Still wincing, Olivier turned to see some of the younger workers and coachmen looking down at himself.

"What is wrong with you, boy?" the oldest coachman- twenty two- hissed, "If you had woken your father he would have worn your hide!"

"What are you doing out of bed, Olivier?" the youngest worker- thirteen, an orphan- asked in a whisper.

"There was a girl down here," Olivier replied to both of the speakers, "Down here, by the old riding horses. She was cloaked with a mask and... She disappeared just now."

The eldest coachman and a couple others snorted at the tale, while all the rest of the group of around ten gasped.

"Did you see the Phantom of the Opera?" one asked, wide eyed.

"He said it was a girl, stupid," another mumbled, "Besides, the Phantom of the Opera died many years ago." Olivier smiled at their absurd mutterings of the Phantom of the Opera. It was defiantly not an old, disheveled man Olivier had seen.

"What do you think she was Olivier?" questioned the youngest. Olivier pulled himself from thoughts of the mystery girl and looked to the loft of wondering faces.

"I don't know really," Olivier chuckled softly, "An angel, perhaps? A ghost, maybe. Yes, that girl was the new Opera Ghost, boys." The boys all began girlish gossip, and Olivier drifted back to thoughts of her- the little Opera Ghost.


End file.
